Stripping back the truth of exotic dancing

Stripping isn’t just about sexual gratification or titillation; it’s a sexual adventure, a desire and a fantasy.

I am a stripper for private parties and events and I provide a sexual adventure for my clients, rather than just a quick lap dance.

Despite popular belief, stripping alone doesn’t make me enough money to survive. In fact, some strippers I know are 9am-5pm government servants or professionals in other sectors. I can make up to US$500 for one half an hour show but the work isn’t as regular as I’d like.

Some weekends, I can get two to three different jobs, if I’m lucky. Sometimes, there’s the occasional lunchtime birthday strip-o-gram sort of thing, which always interests me; and, for me, a show can be performed at anytime, anywhere.

Very few people in my private life know that I strip. I’m not a bad looking girl, but I don’t have the face of a supermodel. I’m in good shape, but I’m no Gisele Bundchen; and I can dance pretty well, but I’m no Joaquin Cortes. And, no, I don’t have gigantic boobs. I’m happy with what I have.

The one thing I do have is what every successful stripper needs; and that is confidence: confidence that your audience wants you and confidence that you can make them want you more.

I got into stripping in college. A friend of mine was looking for a stripper and he asked me because I’m a dancer.

I’ve always been a show off on stage and I thought it was the perfect opportunity to make a few bucks and get a thrill. Plus, I had the chance to impress someone. I had so much fun and after that show, more and more people engaged me for strip shows.

The clients usually give me a few details about what they want from me, for example, the theme, venue, time, what it’s for and the kind of crowd that will be there.

My first experience was doing a routine that is a must for almost all female strippers: go in dressed like a school-girl and ask if you can join in the party. It turned out to be a going-away party for an English lecturer from my college! Since I was a Computer Science major, I didn’t know many of the English faculty.

It was mostly men about 30 years older than me. As the featured stripper, I always arrive after the crowd has had one drink, two at the most. If I get there too early, everyone’s too reserved to get into it, and I end up feeling too self-conscious with the lack of audience participation. On the other hand, I don’t want to get there when everyone’s smashed. My rule is that my client has to be there at all times to ensure my safety.

That first evening, I did the school-girl thing and danced for the man of honour. I was nervous at first, but I warmed up quickly and everyone seemed to be having fun. He was flattered and fairly buzzed; and when I got down to just the thong, he wanted me to come closer.

Stripper rules are: I can touch the customers if I am invited to; and they always want me to! But customers are not allowed to touch the strippers unless she guides them to.

I ended up doing a lap dance for him, me in his lap, straddling him, facing him and grinding against him. The music ended, I gave him a kiss, and I got up to go.

Then another song started. That was not my plan. A few guys wanted me to dance. Gamely, I took a few steps with each, gave them a kiss, and tried to work my way towards the door. Then one, probably the youngest, best-looking man grabbed me for his turn.

He was about 20 years older than me but in great shape. He looked familiar. I had probably bumped into him in the hallway rushing from one lecture hall to another. We did a little bump and grind on the pseudo dance floor.

He looked at me and said, “Hello little dancer.” At first, I thought he might not recognize me, since I was lacking clothes and all. But then he whispered, “I remember you.” He smiled and slid his hands down to my waist.

“Hello sir,” I whispered in his ear. “Nice to see you here.” He gave me another slightly lop-sided grin and proceeded to lead me to dance as the crowd of men around us cheered enthusiastically.

All the attention was feeling really good and I started getting horny. We were quickly going to a place that I didn’t want to go with a crowd of boozy academics watching over us.

I danced us over to the door, told him that I was very sorry, but had to go. I gave him a kiss on the cheek, smiled at the glassy look in his eyes, grabbed my stuff and raced out the door.

My job is sexy, fun and exciting. I try my best to fulfill my clients’ fantasies and desires, as long as my safety is assured.

As a stripper, men drooling over me with a big hard on is nothing new and the thrill of stripping is that a bunch of men that I don’t know have that desire for me; never mind that they’re usually half drunk. Never mind that I might not be especially attracted to any one of them. It is all ego gratification in its purest, most addictive form.